


The Dance of the Dead.

by KingOfWinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Sort Of, Time Travel Fix-It, dont know what I'm doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 15:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19726516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfWinter/pseuds/KingOfWinter
Summary: The realms of men fell, and the gods had one last chance. They used it.A time travel fix it, with a bit of twist. Hope it's original enough for most of you, because most time travel's seem to follow the exact same path.





	The Dance of the Dead.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing with this. The idea jumped into my head a few weeks back, and it was stopping me from writing my other fic so I decided to write it in order to get it out of my head. Tell me what you think, and give me some suggestions with what to do, because I have no clue where to go from here. I might place this up for adoption one day.

“It’s over.”

The words echoed around the void, and the gods watched the world in despair. They watched as ice swept in from the North and extinguished the light of the realms of men.

They had watched as The Wall fell, and then the order that had guarded it. They had watched as Winterfell had fallen as well, blown to smithereens in a last ditch effort to destroy the armies of the Others. An effort that ultimately had failed. They had watched as dragons fell from the sky, wolves froze in their packs and lions burned in their dens.

They watched as one by one, the heroes they had chosen had fallen. They watched them as they burned, watched them as they froze and watched them as they fell. They watched them die, and they did nothing.

For as long as they had existed they had done nothing. They were gods, above mere mortals, and they did not interact with the realms of men. Their purpose was to watch and wait, and guard the eternal realms. They were the spirits in the sky that men prayed to for guidance and wisdom.

But they did not answer. Their role was only to watch and watch they would, even over the fallen realms of men.

“It’s over.” It repeated and the gods turned to behold the oldest of them, the most ancient and primordial of them all as he watched from the shadows of the void. Shadows where he had dwelt for millennia. From where he had dwelt since the other gods had invaded his lands, killed his worshippers and burned down his sacred trees.

He had watched in silence and never spoken ever since. His voice had withered away and with it his followers. Only one kingdom still followed him, and he had forsaken them, for in many ways they had forsaken him.

His magic’s had still lingered with the men that were free when the Others had come. But for all his ancient primordial power he had not stirred. Until now.

He emerged from the shadows, his face hidden by the shadows he covered himself with, his form wrapped in the cloak of blood red leaves. “You failed them…” He hissed. “You failed them all!”

“So did you.” One daring god replied.

The ancient one hissed in anger. “I failed none!” He replied. “Even with my limited powers I did all I could! I did more than just _watch_!”

The gods turned the gaze upon the White Wolf and simmered in fury. They had thought, but they had not known.

“We are gods.” One replied, “We are the watchers.”

“We are gods.” The ancient one replied in agreeance, “but we are the guardians too!”

The gods grumbled and returned to watching the realms of men. Behind them, the ancient one trembled in anger. “It’s over.” He hissed. “What left is there to watch over?”

“What left is there to guard over?” The drowned one replied.

“Nought.” The ancient one replied. “But our last chance.”

“Our last chance?” A voice hissed, and the other that dwelt in the shadows stepped forth. The ancient one was scary, but this god was horrifying.

He was had no face, yet many faces, and his form was wrapped in cloak and cowl. Death and shadows lingered on him like a perfume and all trembled before the might of his gaze. It was the gaze of the god that had always been and would always be. It was the gaze of death.

The ancient one refused to quail before him, and raised his head, and unstooped his form. “Our last chance.” He hissed at death, and the gods stepped away from the ancient one. None had dared to talk to that god in any manner since… well forever.

Death stepped forward and as quick as lightning grabbed the ancient one in a death grasp. The ancient one struggled and kicked in his grasp, but it was all to no avail. Not even the gods could stand before this one.

Death turned his terrible gaze upon the ancient one, and the ancient one roared in pain, and anger and hurt. It was no peaceful or quiet to kill a god. And then, as quick as it had begun it was over. The ancient one slumped to the floor, his powers waning and ebbing. If death returned his gaze upon him, he would die without a doubt.

But death did not. Instead he turned his gaze away and shielded it against the other gods. Death laughed and it was a terrible thing to behold. “A last chance.” He agreed. “But the cost is high.”

“What is the cost?” The red one asked.

From beneath his cowl a smile grew upon Death’s face. The withered one quivered. Death did not smile. It was known. And then she understood the cost. “No!” She screamed as she turned to flee into the shadows of the void, shadows where hopefully she could elude Death.

But none can run from death and neither can they hide. Not even a god.

Death fell upon the withered one first, and she had little fight in her, for she was no fighter, just a guide. The gods that watched roared in anger and horror and terror.

Some gods fought. Some gods ran. Some gods hid. But all gods died.

And in the end only Death and the Ancient One lingered, though the Ancient One was on the verge of fading away.

Death returned to the first god he had attacked, the one he knew the most. This was the god that had dwelt with him in the shadows for millennia, a god whose own followers death knew well. The Ancient ones most ardent followers were the ones that had gifted death the most souls. Not even the followers of the Red One were as bloodthirsty as the earliest followers of the Ancient One.

“What Death takes, he can give.” Death said, and he turned his gaze once more upon the Ancient One.

But this was not the gaze of death, this was the gaze of life. Death had taken the lives and powers of the other gods and he gave them to Ancient One. He withheld the souls of none, and when he was done, the Ancient One was almost as powerful as he had been in the days when men were still babes at the cradle.

Death was the only other god left, and his powers were waning. Such a process had taken a tremendous toll upon him and he slumped down beside the Ancient One. “Our last chance…” He warned the Ancient One, before returning to the comforting shadows of the void. Here he would linger, and here he would heal, and when this last chance succeeded he would stir from the shadows to once more. Until then he would rest.

The Ancient One watched his oldest companion return to the shadows and he turned his gaze upon the frozen wastelands of the realms of men. With the power that bubbled and simmered within him, he smote a spell upon the eternal and mortal realms.

“Give them back their memories, but not their own.”

“Give them back their flesh, but not their own.”

“Give them back their bones, but not their own.”

“Give them back their strength, but not their own.”

“Give them back their house, but not their own.”

“Give them back their blood, and make it their own.”

The immortal and mortal realms became one, and darkness consumed all realms as a power was unleased upon the realms that had not been unleashed in the living memory of any mortal or immortal.

The realms were as one in ways that they had not been since the dawn of creation. For those who still lingered in the frozen wastelands and for those that still lingered in the void it was a wondrous event to behold, and one that would have lasting impacts upon all realms.

The ancient clock that had been ticking forward since time immemorial stopped, and then turned back.

All over the realms of men, time turned back, and the Ancient One poured every atom of his entire existence into working the spell. He pushed himself, until he reached the brink and he wavered and he waited and then he stopped the spell.

* * *

Deep down beneath the earth, beneath the place where Winter had first fallen, the stone men trembled, and the stone dire wolves that rested beside them shook their shaggy coats. Deep in the crypts, skeletons rose and flesh formed around the bones. Over the flesh formed clothes, and in their grasp were Iron Swords.

The men of winter had arisen. The Ancient One had bestowed upon the realms of men one last chance.

And none knew whether this chance would be squandered or seized.


End file.
